


A Serial Killer's Creative Motive

by l00ps



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 16:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l00ps/pseuds/l00ps
Summary: A short story based on a writing prompt:"You are a serial killer, what sort of creative motive drives you?"





	A Serial Killer's Creative Motive

I hunger; therefore, I eat. I need; therefore, I get. 

"I am a serial killer." I try out the words, testing them on my tongue, the sheer proclamation driving my body to shiver. They were mere words and yet it makes me feel good. 

Out of habit, I ran my tongue along the edges of my teeth, liking the feeling. I especially like it when I do it with an open mouth, stretched into an open smile. Most times, I do it subconsciously. I don't know why but it feels really good.

I like a lot of things, and all of those things are things that makes me feel good. 

Humans make me feel good. I love them. I love them so much. I love their bright colored eyes. I love their laughter. I love their children. I love their voice. I love their skin. I want to kiss them. Hug them. Hold their hands tightly, or caress their lovely fingers. 

I'm human, too, and that's why I love myself. I love touching my arms, running my nails on my cheeks, drawing red lines on my arms and making myself feel good. I feel so blessed to be a human. Sometimes I can't take it anymore. The intense pleasure running through my bones and coursing through my skin at just plainly looking at a human world. At humans, to be exact. I don't often do that though, not unless I'm in a private area.

It makes me break down sometimes, my knees giving out, my hands clenching upon my arms just to feel my own flesh. Such beauty. Such goodness!

"Humans feel good." I spoke, feeling the slight vibrations of my throat because of the action. I'm not really a talker, but I have been offered a very gracious deal just to talk. My lawyers have advised me to take the deal.

"Is that why you kill?" 

"Yes." I almost hissed, but stopped myself, for the interrogator they have assigned me to looks good. I'm a simple person. I like good things. She, with her blonde straight hair and pretty chocolate eyes, looks really good. She has that professional look about her, probably because of her profession. She gave me a courteous nod. So polite. 

I haven't seen a single human since I have been imprisoned. Her creamy skin and perfect white teeth is just plain orgasmic. But most of all, I like her voice. I like human voices. I like it when they move, too. I want to bite her throat and paint my arms with her blood. 

"It makes me feel good when I run my hands underneath their skin." The confession rolled out of my mouth. It actually feels good to finally talk to someone about it. Someone who will live past tomorrow, that is. "It felt good when I ran my hands underneath their skin. It felt really good." I repeated, my hands, handcuffed behind my chair, twitches as I physically remember it. 

It was warm and soft. When I placed my soaked hands on my skin, it felt velvety. Smooth. Good. Really good. Just thinking of it makes my mouth water. I'm parched. Deprived.

"Can you tell me how you killed your first victim, Amy Waters?" 

Her voice cut me off from my lovely thoughts, but I accept her inquiry, for it reminds me of another good memory. 

"I made a map on her skin. I cut open a path for my fingers to sink in. It was squishy." And it felt good. It felt better than a hug. I was... I touched her, in the most intimate way possible. And then, I painted my body with her blood. It felt good. I ran my hands all over my skin. So smooth. So good. So - 

"What about the blood on her bedroom walls?" What about it?

"That was just to encourage other people to do what I do." I told her honestly, inhaling deeply to try and catch a whiff of her smell. She raised an eyebrow at what I said, and I merely shrugged. 

"Don't you feel it?" I asked her, "When you see blood? Because I do. I feel it. I don't know what it is, but I feel it when I see other people. I felt it when I saw Amy." Amy. I was fond of Amy, who had curly brown hair and unblemished skin. 

"The drive to feel good. I want to make other people feel good, too. That's why I always leave a pool of blood. A painting of blood. I figured, since you guys have such amazing control, I may as well gift you with my leftovers in the artiest way I could." Which were just finger paintings on walls, floors, if I was feeling extravagant...But whatever. 

I sniff more sharply this time. 

Almonds. She smells like almonds. Good God. I want to bite her so bad.


End file.
